Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren

by Silvana G Sánchez

  Her mouth agape and with a frown, Alisa stood. “Dristan?” she asked. “Is that what this is all about?” She paused. “I had to kill him, Ivan. He would have killed me had I given him the chance!” A spark of indignation gleamed in her eyes.

  “Nonsense!” He turned to the hearth.

  “After all this time—can’t you see it still? Dristan couldn’t bear knowing you shared the Blood with me. He couldn’t bare sharing you!” She held her breath, refraining the passion in her voice. “I did it for us.”

  “You did it for yourself… You coveted Dristan’s millenary blood,” he mused, his gaze lost in the flames. “You are a true master of deception, Alisa. I’ll grant you that.”

  “Don’t say that…” she whispered with a hurting voice.

  “But it must be said.” Ivan turned. “You fooled me. Returning to Venice, meeting my maker—you planned it all from the very beginning. And drinking to the last drop of Dristan’s millenary blood, you disappeared into the ether.”

  “That’s a lie!”

  “The thing is, had I known your heart’s true desire, I would have done everything to please you.” Ivan sniggered, surprised to hear himself say it. “Had I known how much you craved this power, I would have shared the Source with you… You didn’t have to kill him.”

  “So this is what you think of me?” she asked, moving closer. “The look in your eyes when you found Dristan’s body spoke silently to my heart. It said: He will never forgive you. I had to leave.”

  “You were there?” Her words cast a beam of hope to his pain. “It’s true, your cunning scheme horrified me as much as the coldness of your kill. But I would have stood by your side, in spite of it all. I thought you knew that.”

  “Now I do,” she mused. Alisa pursed her lips. “Tell me, how can I gain your forgiveness? I want us to be free from this… hatred.”

  Ivan looked away. He dared not face her for what he was about to say. “I don’t hate you… I could never hate you, Alisa.” He paused. “I’ve spent centuries not hating you, my love.”

  “I want your heart back,” she whispered, inches away from him.

  As Ivan turned, every shred of pain and resentment vanished in her tearful blue eyes. “I have no heart, Alisa,” Ivan said. “It disappeared the day you left me… and you’ve had it every day since.”

  A heartfelt smile bloomed on her lips. And as Alisa closed her eyes, savoring the moment, the tears fell and rolled down her cheeks.

  Ivan wrapped her in his arms, allowing his heart to beat once more only for her. And in this warm embrace, he kissed her tears away, kissed her brow and chiseled nose. And finally, he kissed her lips with a passion that evoked their days under the sun, days of the Venetian Carnival, when for the first time their mortal hearts locked in one powerful instant.

  “This is what eternity’s made of…” he whispered in her ear. Ivan tightened his arms around her waist and carried her to the bedroom.

  Their clothes were shed quickly. Ivan lay on the bed, a prisoner of her every whim as she climbed onto his lap, straddling him firmly. His hands smoothed up her thighs and closed around the small of her back. His body responded to her nearness. Ivan closed his eyes, intoxicated by the scent of her skin—roses and bergamot, an all too familiar fragrance that stirred his senses into a frenzy.

  Alisa leaned close enough to nip the tip of his earlobe with her teeth. She then smoothed down a pathway of kisses that stopped halfway on his neck. Her sharp fangs grazed his skin. The pressure above his carotid artery aroused him beyond reason. Her willingness to take the drink of ecstasy she’d been deprived of for so long drove him mad with desire—mad enough to let her get away with it…

  “No!” Ivan rolled away from her with panting breath. He fixed his gaze at the ceiling.

  “What is it?” she asked with a frown and an enticing air of naiveté.

  “You can’t…” Ivan took a deep breath and then sighed. “Whatever poison flows in my blood—it could kill me tomorrow, for all I know.”

  Alisa snuggled next to him. “Well…” she whispered with a sultry voice. “Then I’ll die with you.” A flash of her mischievous smile and she sank her fangs into his chest. And as the blood filled her mouth, Ivan thought he would faint—drunk in the immeasurable excitement of this Dark Bliss.

  Phillip

  “His body was found in his Penthouse…”

  “Authorities have yet to determine the cause of death…”

  “Michael Reese’s career had recently spiked after a successful national tour…”

  “Look at that,” Antoine said, flipping channels. “It’s all over the news.”

  “Will you please turn off that television?” Phillip took a deep drag off his cigarette, nervous as hell as he paced in the kitchen.

  Antoine clicked the remote control, and the screen went black. “I’m coming with you,” he said, tossing the control aside.

  “Why would you?” Phillip asked, furrowing his brow. Did he not care enough for his new life? Why would Antoine throw the dice in a gamble which by all means was fixed to lose?

  “Have you forgotten it already?” he said, standing before him. “You and I—we’re family, Phillip. Blood Brothers.” Oddly enough, the words didn’t make Phillip cringe with fright as they once did.

  “My plan requires no one else…” Phillip mused, putting out the cigarette. But, what plan? There was no plan—burst into The Devil’s Coven, kill them all, and then rescue Marianne? That was no plan, that was suicide.

  Phillip smoothed his hand on the paneled walls. Such a long time had passed since they’d had any need of weaponry—where was that rotten safe?

  At last, he got lucky. A panel clicked as he pressed it. He pressed it once more and unhinged the secret door which then opened to reveal the safe.

  Entering the combination on the digital panel, the metal door opened. Dozens of transparent cases lay inside.

  “You keep an arsenal in the kitchen?” Antoine asked, astonished.

  “We had to use the room for something…” He shrugged. He then took out a case and opened it. In his hands, he examined the circular blade.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Antoine said. “What is it?”

  Phillip smirked. “It’s a ring sword… Do you like it?” he asked, offering him the weapon. Antoine took it with no hesitation, and as he examined it, the blade’s metal glimmered against his widened eyes.

  “I like it very much,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t.” Phillip took the ring sword off his hands and set it inside the case. “It’s Ivan’s.”

  He pulled another case out of the vault. A sword no longer than twenty inches came out of the case. “Now this one, I like.” Phillip held the sword against the room’s lighting, testing its sharpness with his fingers.

  “This is a Khopesh sword, Antoine,” he said in his teacherly voice. “It’s conveniently small and light, and its blade is sharp enough to sever a head in one quick thrust… Comes in handy when dealing with enemies in a short range.”

  “Sounds lethal,” Antoine mused. “But is that all you’re taking with you? I mean, you’ll need more than that if you’re taking on the entire coven.”

  Phillip smiled. Antoine’s concept of a vampire executioner was far from Van Helsing’s cliché—the old hammer and stake through the heart. He must have expected something more in the likes of the Terminator.

  “It should be enough, if willed properly,” Phillip said.

  Antoine seemed reluctant to believe him, cocking his head and raising one eyebrow. “I’m coming with you—no matter what you say. Two vampires is better than one.”

  Phillip swept his hand in the air. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Antoine…” he said. “But this is not your fight—or Ivan’s, for that matter.”

  “And where is Ivan?” Antoine asked. “We haven’t seen him for days!”

  “And I don’t expect we’ll see him anytime soon…” Phillip cinched the sword to his hip
and turned to the doorway.

  “Phillip, stop!” Antoine urged. “You’re not thinking straight… You can’t possibly go there alone!”

  “Go—where?” Ivan asked, entering through the backdoor. He was not alone.

  “Alisa?” Phillip said, relieved to see her in the flesh at last.

  She wore skinny dark jeans with tall black leather boots. Her pale blue cashmere sweater enhanced the blue shade of her eyes. Long wavy black hair rippled below her shoulders as she leaned towards him with a welcoming smile.

  “Phillip Blackwell…” she said, and her voice was smooth and sensual.

  “Well, that only leaves him.” Ivan gestured referring to Antoine. “This is Antoine Somerset, the most recent member of our dark family.” He paused. “Antoine, meet Alisa Lockhart, my fledgling and your sibling in the Blood.”

  Alisa’s fierce beauty left him speechless.

  “Now that the pleasantries are done with… I’m almost afraid to ask this but—what’s new?” Ivan said, slipping into a chair.

  “It’s Marianne,” Antoine blurted. “The Coven took her prisoner. Phillip intends to face those vampires alone—will you talk some sense into him?”

  “It’s nothing like that,” Phillip said dismissively, covering the Khopesh sword with his jacket. “I’m just heading over there to discuss the terms of Marianne’s release.”

  “That sword says otherwise,” Alisa taunted, pointing at the Khopesh’s hilt.

  Exposed beyond rebuttal, Phillip couldn’t help but smile. You are one shady lady, he told her in silence. Alisa curled the corner of her lips in reply.

  “Phillip, are you mad?” Ivan burst in outrage. “You are not leaving this house, and that is final!”

  “Well said, Ivan.” Antoine crossed his arms over his chest and nodded.

  “Not until I’ve spoken with Eirik Bjorn,” Ivan added.

  “You’re going to talk to The Skull Splitter,” Phillip said with a cynical look. “Ivan, he’s the one behind all of this! He cannot be trusted!”

  “The Skull Splitter?” Alisa frowned, drawing closer to Ivan. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “You mustn’t worry, Alisa.” Ivan held her hand and pressed it against his lips. They seemed to be on very good terms. “I’m sure everything can be sorted out with a simple conversation…”

  “Then by no means should you go by yourself,” she said.

  Ivan hinted a mischievous smile. “And yet—I will go alone,” he said, amused. No power on earth could change his maker’s mind now.

  “You should at least go armed,” Phillip suggested. “Take my sword.”

  “I need no weapons,” Ivan interrupted. “But if I were to choose a weapon to meet the Viking Lord, I would most definitely not take the Khopesh sword. I’d take the ring sword anytime over the Khopesh!” he mocked.

  “Don’t get me started about that, Ivan!” Phillip laughed. “Remember last time, how that wretched ring sword got stuck in that vamp’s belly? You were beyond disgusted with the grease on the blade. Then he wouldn’t die, and I ended up solving that matter.”

  “How could I forget?” Ivan said. “You’ve reminded me of that story for the last twenty years…”

  “Fine,” Phillip muttered. “Go unarmed. I guess if things go south, you could always fly away.”

  Ivan gave him a mirthless laugh in reply. Alisa sniggered and turned to him. Their eyes met in the most intimate gaze… What exactly had happened between those two?

  “Am I to understand that you can actually fly?” Antoine asked, skeptic as he narrowed his eyes.

  “As it turns out, Antoine, I can.” Ivan rose from the seat. “I’ll let Phillip fill you in with the details—he’s so good at telling stories,” patting Phillip’s shoulder. “I should change. I’m meeting a Viking Lord. This cannot wait another minute.”

  Before Phillip could say another word to dissuade his maker, Ivan rushed to the stairway, stubborn as a child.

  “He’s kidding, right?” Antoine asked Alisa. “He can’t fly.”

  Alisa leaned against the kitchen table and smiled. The twinkle of mischief in her blue eyes explained everything without words. This woman was worth overlooking anything and everything—even three hundred years of pain.

  “Looks like I’ve missed out on a lot recently…” Antoine mused.

  Phillip smirked. “That’s what happens when you hang out too much with witches.”

  Ivan

  It struck him as odd that the seagull’s squawking would simply not fade away in spite of the late hour. And as Ivan strolled on Sausalito’s Bridgeway, he realized a long time had passed since he’d last come to this place. There was a stillness to this fishing town tonight, what with the winter winds rushing harshly, and this made him like it even more. He enjoyed his little walk by the stone-lined shoreline.

  How bold of him to summon an ancient one. Perhaps his newly acquired talents granted him enough courage to undertake such a daunting mission—though in truth, Ivan had never considered himself the prudent sort of fellow.

  He had been wise enough to send Eirik a clear message, saying that he meant no harm and wished to speak with him. He had not answered—which Ivan had taken as a good sign since it meant his audacity had not wakened Eirik’s legendary wrath. And even though Bjorn had remained under the vampire radar for almost half a century, Ivan knew he lived. He sensed his presence quite near him, actually.

  Ivan had suggested to meet him in the small coffee shop that stood before him. The place for their reunion mattered very little, for if Eirik intended to turn Ivan into dust, he could do it anywhere he pleased. Bjorn could have done it sooner, but he hadn’t, and this granted Ivan a sense of ease as he walked into the shop.

  It was a reasonable spot, far from the city yet within the mundane reach. It granted Bjorn the opportunity to study him before deciding whether he would enter this quaint establishment after following Ivan’s footsteps for almost an hour. Oh yes, he knew Eirik followed him—curious, was he?

  He sat at the table in the shop’s corner and ordered a double espresso. Ivan would not drink it, but he enjoyed its filling warmth and delicious fragrance, especially on a cold evening like this.

  The chiming of the door bell announced his entrance. His presence however, was far stronger than that ridiculous sound.

  He wore blue jeans and a navy blue Armani pullover that accentuated his fierce blue eyes. As he entered the shop, Eirik invariably drew the gaze of what few men prowled the room at this hour—including Ivan’s. He had to admit there was something terribly compelling about this immortal one. He was a little over six feet tall, with the golden hair of a god. His slightly tanned skin eased his heart—making him disregard the fact that Eirik was a harsh killer and slayer of his own kin, The Skull Splitter.

  Eirik walked to his table and sat in front of him.

  “It’s been a long time, Ivan.”

  “It has.” Ivan set his hands on the table, a finger playing with the mug’s handle.

  “This must be important then,” Eirik suggested as he fixed his eyes on him. There was a definite air of superiority as he spoke. But of course, he was entitled to it after almost two millennia living in the Blood. And not only because of his age, but because of the history and legacy he had built for their brethren.

  “It's very important.” Ivan sighed. “Or at least to me it is.”

  “Very well, speak then. What is so urgent to summon me away from my retirement, so out of the blue—as they now say?”

  Eirik had been lying low. For once, he wished to remain detached from all matters vampire related. He roamed into San Francisco now and then, only to return to his wanderlust and enjoy the views of the world—he conveyed Ivan such things in silence.

  “I’ve flown all the way from Venice for this meeting,” he added to those thoughts.

  “I just want you to know how much Marianne means to my family. I know she can be dauntless and impulsive, and sometimes she disregards the rules t
hat bind our brethren—but she’s young. And besides, who hasn’t done it amongst us? If you ask me, The Dark Veil is in desperate need of some reviewing—times have changed too much since its creation.

  “I can understand why she would be persecuted for her involvement with a mortal—not to mention a rock star. Yes, it could put our kin on the spotlight, and yes, she should be warned against it. But isn’t locking and destroying her going a little too far?” he finally said.

  Eirik did little to conceal his surprise and alarm as he heard those last words.

  “Destroying her, you say?” he inquired, leaning closer to Ivan over the table. He wanted to read Ivan’s mind, had it not been cloaked from him, he would have done it hours ago.

  The Skull Splitter’s reaction intrigued Ivan. Did Eirik actually not know a thing about the Coven’s plot to destroy Marianne? And also, how much did he know about her to even care for her fate?

  “Members of the Coven tried to kill her a week ago,” he said. “They killed her mortal lover and have kept her locked in the Coven’s dungeons since.” Don’t you know this? he wanted to add, but refrained.

  Eirik’s demeanor changed. Ivan could almost see the anger slowly brewing within his entrails—hot and effervescent, building up and receding as the core of an active volcano about to pour his fury upon an entire population of ignorant fools.

  Eirik allowed Ivan to pry into his thoughts. He revealed Jiao had approached him for counsel a few months earlier, and Bjorn had allowed this audience out of the goodness of his immortal heart. He had opened the doors of his lair and listened to Jiao’s worries. And later on, he had told him it would be unwise to pursue such a vicious plot, that the punishment exceeded its crime and that he—Eirik Bjorn—was adamantly against it!

  “The Dragon has defied me for the last time,” Eirik mused.

  Ivan remained silent.

  If Jiao had truly been the sole mastermind behind this plot, then he had two accounts to answer for. Not only had he imprisoned Alisa in the hopes of getting his claws on the Source, but he also intended to destroy Ivan’s vampiric family.